Frozen Time
by bubblesonthehorizon
Summary: Lydia was lost. Her best friend died and the boy who she thought she would always be able to count on was caught up in another girl. She felt a growing schism between her and the members of her pack, one that she couldn't seem to cross. What was she supposed to do when the boy she grew to love existed across the divide? A short but sweet Stydia fic.
**Frozen Time**

A/N: This short story is split into chapters because I felt like that was the best way to organize each little piece. I'm telling you this now so you don't get confused when you get farther through the story.

Please enjoy! This is my first publication on this site, I was just feeling really inspired after reading everybody else's on here so decided to try my hand at it.

Also note: I recognize that my writing style is kind of odd; I'm not really very good at dialogue since I feel actions are much more powerful than words, so there is really only one 'chapter' in which dialogue is a main component. I hope that the lack of such a factor doesn't completely repel you.

Anyway, enough of my babble. Read on!

* * *

 **Prologue**

When Allison died, time froze.

Silence filled the air, wind ceased its motion, and darkness cloaked the earth. Life lost meaning.

As Allison began her slow descent to the ground, Lydia's scream penetrated the night sky. The knowledge of her best friend's passing was a crushing weight upon her lungs and the sole release was a cry only a banshee could produce. She screamed and screamed until her body was unable to expel another sound.

And then she went limp, finding the only source of support was the cold, lifeless body of the boy laying unconscious beside her; the boy who had brought her into the damp tunnels in the first place, beneath the supernatural war that was waging above them where her best friend was now dead; the boy who had spent his whole life trying to fit himself into hers; the boy who was now the only constant in her life.

And so as the war continued above them, Lydia clutched to Stiles as her sobs echoed throughout the tunnels yet were heard by no one.

Immediately following the death of Allison, Scott had noticed very little of his surroundings. He had become desensitized, numb to all feelings besides overwhelming sadness.

Gradually, with the support of his pack and the introduction of new members, he began to become more of an alpha. Although he could never return to the unwaveringly optimistic, naïve boy he once was, he could become the rock that his pack needed.

He also became hyperaware of his environment, especially in regards to members of his pack, and so he began to notice little occurrences between Stiles and Lydia.

The first thing he noticed was about a few months after the detrimental events of that horrible night: somebody had approached the pack's table during a lunch break between classes and asked about Allison. Of course the entire table froze and glanced at everybody else for support – well, except for Lydia and Stiles. Their pain filled gazes flashed straight towards each other's. Scott watched the two curiously as Kira, who was not as struck by the question as the rest of the pack since she had not truly known Allison, answered.

Through the remainder of their lunch period, Scott observed the two. He noticed that they had shifted closer when the stranger posed her question, with Lydia almost leaning on Stiles. They barely talked to the rest of the table, opting instead to communicate only with each other, quiet whispers and revealing eyes.

After this initial instance, Scott continued to watch his two best friends, noticing that they were almost always touching in some way; mostly it was Lydia placing a hand on Stiles's arm when they were passing each other in the hallway, or Stiles resting his hand on the small of Lydia's back as they walked together.

The way Lydia looked at Stiles had changed since that night, Scott had realized. Instead of glancing at him in indifference, she now gazed up at him in awe and need. She stared at him as if she feared that one day he wouldn't be there, as if she needed him more than anything else.

Stiles stared at her the same way he always had: the same longing, the same passion, the same affection. His smile brightened when she approached and dimmed when they parted. Although he was happy with Scott, he was even happier with Lydia, especially now that she was giving him more attention than he had ever dreamed of.

Scott was happy for the two, although worried about what had driven them together. He was concerned that once the fresh wound of Allison's passing healed, Lydia would no longer need Stiles, and Stiles would consequently be devastated.

This was not the factor that drove the two inevitably apart, however.

This entire dynamic changed when Malia entered the picture.

Stiles and Lydia stopped sitting so close to each other, and private conversations existed between Stiles and Malia rather than Stiles and Lydia.

Lydia's eyes dimmed and her smile was now a rarity. She continued to gaze at Stiles in need, however sadness also accompanied it.

Eventually Scott became distracted with his own blossoming relationship with Kira to notice Lydia's worsening condition.

She stopped eating as much and ceased talking with the pack. When she attempted to contribute to the conversation, she was met with either blank stares or ignorance, as if nobody had heard her.

Lydia glanced at Stiles more than she would like to admit, seeking the support of the boy who had become her rock. This boy, however, took no notice of her, distracted by the werecoyote who had catapulted her way into their pack.

And so the one constant in her life had left her and had consequently broken her.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

There were few moments in Lydia Martin's past life in which she felt truly alone. This feeling, however, had recently become a personal storm cloud hovering unwaveringly and unrelentingly above her head.

Lydia poked at her salad with her metal fork, moving it around slowly but not attempting to put any of the greens into her mouth. She was surrounded by conversations, between Stiles and Malia, and Scott and Kira, and Liam and Mason, however she continued to sit silently, staring at her unappetizing food. She didn't notice when the individual conversations turned to a communal one, with Scott explaining a new threat on the loose in Beacon Hills.

"Lydia?" Her head shot up at her name, fork frozen above her salad. The rest of the table was staring at her expectantly.

"Yes?" She asked, glancing at them all. Her gaze paused on Stiles for a beat longer than the rest. Scott stared at her concerned.

"Are you alright?" She scoffed.

"Of course," Lydia lied. "What's going on?" Scott hesitated before describing the supernatural creature that plagued their home. Lydia eventually tuned out again, turning her attention once again to her uneaten salad.

When had the only thing that tied their group together become the supernatural?

Lydia stiffened when she realized that her only connection with these people had been Allison, and while she had believed that Stiles could also act as a link, that hadn't panned out.

She felt the familiar burning sensation behind her eyes, signaling the arrival of tears. Fortunately, before anybody could notice ( _not that they would care_ , she thought bitterly), a bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period.

Lydia slowly stood up, gathering her supplies and shouldering her backpack. She left the cafeteria, watching the pack walk in front of her longingly, wishing that Allison was still there to connect them like she used to.

Now she could feel the distance between her and the rest of their group growing, and she was powerless to prevent it.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Chaos.

Chaos was everywhere. Flames surrounded Lydia, the heat not bothering her in the slightest. What did concern her, however, was that she was unable to see past the wall of flames to make sure that the pack was safe. She could hear screaming and fighting beyond the fire, however could not discern the voices or what was happening.

Tears streamed down her face in fear. She ran around attempting to find a gap in the flames where she could escape the abandoned building where her and the pack had tracked the supernatural creature that could spew fire from its hands and mouth.

Suddenly the smoke made its way down her throat, gripping her lungs and constricting her breath. She gasped, falling to her knees and gripping at her chest fearfully, trying to free her breath. Unable to even banshee scream, the helpless feeling engulfed her, clouding her vision and ensnaring her mind until she gave up and consciousness was lost.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

All he could see was Lydia.

The smoke cleared, the fire faded, and the girl he has loved since the third grade was left in its midst, covered in soot and laying immobile on the disgusting floor.

His world froze and the setting faded until it was just her and him. Subconsciously he could hear Scott yelling and feel people running around him, however his eyes would not leave Lydia.

Stiles's breath caught.

Then everything faded back into his consciousness and sped up. He looked around and could not fathom how nobody else had noticed the beautiful, tragic girl on the floor that was possibly dead.

He ran to the body, shouting for Scott who appeared instantly by his side, drawn by the panic and desperation in his best friend's voice. Stiles knelt next to her, hands framing Lydia's face while Scott bent over his shoulder to look at her, concerned.

Stiles muttered nonsense to Lydia, begging her to return to him. Eventually Scott took her from him and ran to the Jeep. Stiles followed his best friend, screaming at Scott to help her. Scott drove to the hospital as Stiles held Lydia tighter than believed to be physically possible.

The remainder of the pack watched the scene from afar and stared as the Jeep faded into the distance, blood and sweat dripping down their bodies.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

The interior of this building was too white.

White was an ethereal color, associated with heaven; associated with death.

Stiles hated it. He hated that the walls and the tiles and the ceilings of the hospital were all white, a hue enhanced by the brightness of the lights that painted the ceiling and illuminated the room. Even the doctors were cloaked in the celestial color, most likely to convince others that they could be trusted with their dying loved ones, to make them appear like angels to those desperately in need of a miracle.

This color was all Stiles had looked at for the past three hours. He sat in a wooden chair posted outside of the emergency room, his feet dancing anxiously across the blinding tiles and his sweat-ridden hands rubbing themselves against his khaki pants.

The emergency doors swung open for what felt like the hundredth time since Lydia had been admitted, and once again the nurses and doctors strutted past him with no information about the girl he cared so much about. That did not stop him from jumping up every time the door opened before sitting immediately back down in disappointment when her condition was still concealed from him.

Scott sat with the rest of the pack a few feet away from his best friend, watching Stiles concernedly. He had taken it upon himself to explain what had happened to the rest of his friends, telling them how Stiles had found Lydia unconscious amidst the slowly fading smoke at the warehouse, how Scott had scooped Lydia up and rushed her to the hospital, and how Stiles has not said a word to him since they had arrived. The awkward boy opted instead to stare at the wall, the ceiling, or the swinging doors that forbade him from seeing the broken girl he loved.

At this thought, Scott's gaze flashed to Malia, who had remained consistently stoic throughout the entire ordeal. Being the alpha of his pack, he was able to see straight through her stoicism and realized that she knew that Stiles was in love with another girl. He felt pity for the werecoyote, although he could never tell her that as she would tear him a new one if he did. Instead, he provided consolation and support merely by sitting beside her in silence, a shoulder if she needed it.

Scott knew that she appreciated it even if she didn't explicitly show it.

The pack again heard the pounding of somebody pushing the emergency door open and the familiar squeaking of sneakers against the aggravatingly clean, white tiles as Stiles bolted up from his seat. They turned and saw a doctor standing in front of Stiles, saying something with furrowed brows.

Stiles's friends rushed towards the two, eager to hear any news concerning one of their closest friends.

"She's fine now," the medical official was saying when they approached. "A majority of the smoke has been removed from her lungs and she's conscious. She'll need to be on a breathing tube for a little bit longer, however, to make sure the rest of it leaves her system."

"But she's going to be fine?" Stiles hurriedly asked, his hands wringing. When the doctor nodded, the boy's shoulders visibly relaxed and his anxious movements ceased. "When can we see her?" He now sounded exhausted, emotionally drained.

"You can visit her now if you want," the doctor began. As the pack advanced as a unit towards the metal doors, he put up his hand to stop them. "However, we don't want her to get too excited too fast as it's still difficult for her to breathe, so I suggest you go one at a time or in pairs."

The group of friends looked at each other, trying to decide who should see her first. Eventually they all turned towards their leader expectantly. Scott glanced at each of them before staring at the wide, worried, caramel eyes of Stiles.

Not needing to think too much about it, Scott ushered Stiles through the doors to follow the kind doctor, alone.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Lydia had been staring absentmindedly at the white wall opposite her when the door to her room creaked opened. Her eyes flashed to the door and widened when a familiar lanky frame stumbled through the wooden arch.

"Stiles?" she called, her voice raspy from the smoke.

The boy turned to face her slowly, not entirely too eager to see her injuries. His gaze first found the breathing tube that wrapped around her head and snaked into her nostrils, providing necessary oxygen to her deprived lungs. Then his eyes travelled south, noticing bright red, raw burn marks mapping her usually unblemished skin.

These marks had initially escaped his awareness when he had first brought her to the hospital but were now so painfully visible. They painted her arms and legs, displaying to the world exactly where the fire had kissed and licked greedily upon her body.

He could only stare for a few moments, trying to comprehend exactly what this girl – this beautiful, broken, ghost of a girl – was feeling, what she had gone through.

She stared right back, eyes empty aside from a twinge of curiosity. There were enough pain medications pumped into her blood stream to dull the pain of the burns significantly, but not enough to make her loopy; her brain was slightly foggy, however.

And so the two continued to look at each other, from opposite sides of the room and as far from each other as the space would allow, waiting for the other to begin.

Finally, Stiles sighed and approached her, tugging a chair that had rested beside her bed slightly closer so that when he sat upon it, he could lean his elbows on the mattress beside her torso. He was so vividly aware of her gaze, which followed every movement he made.

Silence once again enveloped the two, with Stiles now staring at his clasped hands.

"I thought you had died," he eventually whispered, not shifting his gaze.

Lydia did not respond.

After a few more moments, he finally ripped his eyes from his hands to look at her face.

She was crying.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, however they were unable to prevent the tears leaking through and streaming burning paths down her flushed cheeks. Her lips were tucked into her mouth, most likely to prevent a sound from coming out, and her shoulders were shaking.

A hand ghosted up her shoulder, comforting fingers dancing across her neck before moving to her hair, stroking it consolingly.

Lydia did not open her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she finally said quietly. The hand in her strawberry blonde locks paused for a moment.

"Why the hell are _you_ sorry?" Her eyes shot open and flashed towards his.

"I'm not sure," admitted Lydia, eyes stained red from the tears. "I guess I'm sorry that you're here because of me. I'm sorry that my inability to do anything by myself forced you guys to come to my aid yet again." Her tears spilled more forcefully upon her blanket as frustration took hold. "I'm sorry that all I've become in our pack is some damn damsel in distress, contributing nothing and helping no one."

"Lydia, stop." He hadn't needed to say that because she had finished, finding nothing else to say that would properly express her frustration with herself.

They sat in silence for a few more moments.

"I'm sorry," Stiles finally muttered. Lydia glanced at him.

"Now why are _you_ sorry?" she echoed his previous statement.

"I should have seen you in there. I should have kept an eye on you, _protected_ you."

Lydia huffed in annoyance. "I shouldn't need your protection," she argued. "I'm a big girl, I should be able to take care of myself."

"Maybe _you_ don't need me to protect you, but _I_ need to protect you," Stiles admitted, eyes staring straight into hers.

She watched him.

"I've been so sad," Lydia stated quietly, "since Allison's death." His eyes dimmed, sadness creeping into his irises.

"I know."

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I feel like she was the only real connection I had to you guys. And when she died, I felt so disconnected, so separate from the rest of the group." His mouth opened to interrupt but she cut him off, "I thought that you might be another link to the pack, but then Malia came into the picture and you kind of forgot about me. You all did."

Guilt now swirled in and dominated Stiles's gaze. "Lyds, I-"

She continued. "Please don't think I blame you for any of this. Believe me, if Malia makes you happy, I want more than anything for you to be happy."

"Lydia, I know you don't blame me, but I blame myself," he admitted sadly. "I saw that you weren't happy, knew that you were still upset about her death, but I didn't do anything about it. I got distracted, trying to help Malia, and I figured that you would eventually get over it like the rest of us, that it would just take some time. But don't for a second think that I didn't keep an eye on you."

As if to make a point, he paused and stared at her.

"Don't think I didn't notice every bite you didn't eat during lunch, and the way you lagged behind all of us when we walked as a pack, and how quiet you've been," he stated passionately. "Other people may not have noticed, but I did."

They just stared at each other for a few more seconds, silence once again dominating the room. His gaze swept across her face before settling in her green eyes. "You're everything to me, Lydia," he revealed quietly. "Everything."

The pumping of her heart began to echo in her ears, eyes blown wide at the confession. Her breathing became erratic as he lent in closer.

Her eyes closed softly when she felt his breath on her face, signaling their proximity to each other. Before he could eliminate the distance between them, she whispered, "You know you're everything to me too, right?"

He froze for a second, and she felt his lips slip into a smile, in turn causing her to grin. "I do now."

Right before he was about to surge forward and finally accomplish what he had been dying to do since the third grade, the sound of the door being forced open drove them apart.

An oblivious nurse strolled into the room, staring down at a clipboard in her hands. "Ms. Martin, it's about time we-" she paused when she noticed the two teenagers in the room, breathing heavily. "Is everything okay?"

Lydia swallowed forcefully before answering, "Yeah, everything's fine." She glanced at Stiles, who she could tell was trying to hide his grin. The nurse watched the two suspiciously.

"I think it's probably time you go, sir," she told Stiles. His grin immediately dropped. "Ms. Martin seems a little worked up with you in here, which, as I'm sure you are aware, is not good for her lungs."

Lydia appeared as if she was about to argue, but Stiles interrupted, "No, yeah, I totally get it." He held his hands up in front of him in defense. "I'll be going. I'm sure the rest of the p – our friends," he quickly corrected, "want a chance to see you." He smiled warmly at her. "I'll see you later," Stiles promised before exiting the room.

Lydia watched him go.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

The sun had been so bright.

After being engulfed by darkness for so long, the light had blinded Lydia when she first stepped out of the hospital.

She was now being driven home by her mother, who was possibly driving ten miles per hour slower than the speed limit depicted on a sign they had just snailed past. Although she knew that Mrs. Martin was only doing so to protect her, the young girl could not help being exasperated with the action.

She was also impatient, ready to be home.

Ready to see Stiles.

The conversation they had in the hospital had been banging around in her mind ever since he left, and she could not contain her excitement towards seeing him again.

So when the Martins pulled into their driveway and saw the awkward boy sitting on their doorstep, twiddling his thumbs, Lydia could not stop herself from immediately jumping out of the car and running up to him. Stiles barely noticed her in time to stand up and catch her when she leaped into his arms.

They laughed and clutched to each other while the eldest Martin slowly and delicately climbed out of the car. She walked past them with a smile on her face as she told them that she would wait inside for Lydia.

Stiles eventually set the girl he adored down but did not release his hold of her waist, wide grins painting both of their lips.

Mrs. Martin watched from a window as they talked outside. Stiles explained how he and Malia had split, Lydia admitted how much she needed him, they both continued to cling to each other like lifelines.

Their first "I love you"s were so quiet that they were almost taken with the wind that blew around them, rustling loose clothes and fallen leaves.

Their first true kiss was magical, with Lydia standing on the tips of her toes and Stiles bending slightly over with his arms wrapped securely around her lower back to prevent falling. So much love was expressed with such a simple gesture and both felt like they had finally accomplished what they had been waiting to do for so long.

Beautiful autumn foliage painted the scenery with a clear blue sky overhead, signaling the beginning of something equally as beautiful. Birds chirped lullabies around them and wind continued to whisper through the trees. They, however, did not seem to notice the concert that nature had orchestrated.

When they kissed, time froze.


End file.
